my sword swings, I been snortin’ things since I was 14, I’m so phat I’m lean, I rob crabs 'n’ put ‘em on smash with flattery / so verbose I hand out verbal battery, MCs holdin’ mics with bayonets get stabbed by me / most lack tha tenacity to grasp even halfa these vocal assault tactics I unhatch cuz of their mental apathy / their cabbages suffer from atrophies, I laugh at tragedies cuz otherwise all I’d do is weep pathetically / lookin’ for pathos, havin’ unwanted children cuz you lack to wear tha raincoat, smokin’ cocaine cut with Draino, to keep my throat clean / a true dopefiend, watch my nosebleed, cuz I sniff every last dollar of tha fuckin’ proceeds / focusing on plagues of locusts, brought upon tha Roman heathens when I spoke with priests that preach about a broken Jesus / Twisted, my penis, thick as oak trees, I blow trees, sharper than razor wire, stayin' wired on tha low key / change my name to Kilo cuz nobody’s as dope as me, even without tha norepinephrine or tha dopamine / corporeal exportin’ endorphins, black orchids represent MCs shorted by tha cordless / there’s no father to my steez, I’m an orphan, I spit vivid portraits ‘n’ to believe most of my skill is dormant / only courts can judge me lord, at least upon tha physical, my nickel-gleam thoughts fire ire like pistols / your rhymes is pointless like men’s nipples, I’m a literal liberal literary Olympian ‘n’ any 1 of Science’s rhymes is handpickable / grams is sniffable, flash those grands, your life is kickable, you with tha mic is criminal, work with tha pen, your pitiful / lemme get conscious with some political, I’ll George Zimmerman you with a Intertech loaded with 3-3 time verbal minuets / I leave leaflets upset in need of time to catch their breath, I think my pen’s got Tourette’s, my ruffneck rough drafts fuck the internet / I smoke Marlboro Light cigarettes ‘n’ I burrow knives in ninjaz’ necks with my eyes crossed like a intersection / Rick Ross ‘n’ JayZ are bitches just like Kanye West is, so is Kendrick, they couldn’t spit 16 even if I penned it / I’m in tha penitentiary, all these MCs is pussy soft like my memories, I like old New York ‘n’ Eminem, let’s go back to last century / I’m a throwback MC from tha Blest Coast, I’ll leave a mic with a strep throat/ aggression’s no question brought to tha mic session, obsessive in how Knolege God Science is tha true nexus / havin’ freshness, Caucasoid with 5% teachings of right angle direction undertones in his thunderous poems written arcanely in archaic tomes / tha most brazen with more degrees than Masons, behavin’ like Damien / grainy with grime ‘n’ grit, I ain’t even in my prime yet I’m better than most cliques when I spit…

I rock from above tha clouds, my nouns is like tha Shroud of Turin / a fervent purist who lets tha culture flourish with vocal nourishment / I rob with 16 wearin’ a kerchief, my bars charge a tariff for rhymes that’s deeper than tha commercial surface / I spit with brothaz Blacker than purple on tha surface / I stay at service ready to attack you rap fledglings with an aluminum bat / rumor's some of you cats rummage your brains for raps ‘n’ still come up half-assed with your half-way shook styles / I’m flyer than owls ‘n’ joust diphthongs ‘n’ vowels to make 1 sound with 6 points on my royal crown / with 7 in tha center, from January to December I made Jesus Christ a sinner / with my top of tha line thoughts, I’m suave with tha mind of God / there’s no calm before tha storm, I rush a spot like killer bee swarms / my verses rush thru cylinders as verbal slugs that pierce fleshes ‘n’ caress death like tha nape of a girl’s neck…

I bang thru barricades, serenadin’ Fate with a verbal cadence that never changes till tha Revelation/ ace of spades, locked in a cage with a pen ‘n’ paper to vent my frustrations, so many pages, so many ages / to you Hip Hop’s a phase, my bouquet of anguish has tainted the American English language, I came with insane wit / painted in an array of statements, colorful to catch tha gullible, palpable to taste you lame shits / I walk locked in waistchains ‘n’ anklets, headbangin’ like Greg Louganis, more holier than shamen, more jokes than Damon Wayans / on a TV show vocally staccato ‘n’ capriccio, it’s easy yo, I let tha pen flow…